It isn’t every day you trip and fall into the arms of your destiny. At least that’s how I described Parker to my friends. I was running late, of course, because I’m never on time, and was hurrying down the stairs of my apartment building (damn unreliable elevator) in 3-inch heels no less when IContinue reading “More Devil Than Destiny”
Tag Archives: prompt
A Soul Lost
The priest slowly walked beside the guard, his well-worn Bible grasped firmly in one hand. He hated these kinds of meetings. Give him a person on their deathbed, their body wrecked with disease or age or both anytime over this. It was true he didn’t agree with the death penalty, but it was more thanContinue reading “A Soul Lost”
Letter from the Inside
Hey, Big Brother, It has been awhile since I’ve written I know. I’ve been busy I guess. You’ll be happy to hear I’m making great progress here though. My therapist (we call him Dr. Q, isn’t that cool?) said I was doing good. But I’ve been thinking about you, you and mom. How is she,Continue reading “Letter from the Inside”
Life with Three Boys: A Limerick
I am a mother to three wild boys who wrestle, climb and fight over toys. From morning to night with no rest in sight Coffee fuels my life with three young boys. For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, Diane gave me this prompt: Write a limerick about your day. I gave Grace O’Malley thisContinue reading “Life with Three Boys: A Limerick”
Tomorrow is Another Day
“It’s getting cold out,” she said, pulling her robe tighter around her body and wishing she knew what he was thinking about. He’d barely talked during dinner and afterwards, he had disappeared outside before she’d even cleared the table. He remained silent, a solid mass in a worn flannel shirt and grease-stained jeans, hunched inContinue reading “Tomorrow is Another Day”
The Witching Hour
She sits at the kitchen table, a cup of cold coffee in front of her. This can’t be happening to her, to her perfect little family. She draws in a shaky breath and then releases it. She’d spent all her tears last night, leaving nothing for today. But how had this happened? The Day hadContinue reading “The Witching Hour”
Lift the Flap
My mother sits at the kitchen table, her purple bathrobe loose around her thin body. She covers her face with her hands. I drop to my knees beside her chair and look up at her. I am like a baby bird, waiting to be fed my mother’s wisdom and understanding and love. She drops herContinue reading “Lift the Flap”
Andrea Miles 